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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355666">Things We Lost in the Silence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackstanifold/pseuds/jackstanifold'>jackstanifold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Who We Are, In The End [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author is a Technoblade Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Character Analysis, Fuck Dream All My Homies Hate Dream, every day i wake up and neglect my other fic, im an everyone apologist, no plot just angst, not dream though, to write character analysis on characters no one cares about</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:41:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackstanifold/pseuds/jackstanifold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>L'Manburg once was beautiful, a place anyone could go to get away, a safe place from the wilds of the world, a haven in the storm of life.</p><p>Now, it was gone, a hole, a regret. The people are gone, and their dreams crushed against the rocks. Memories and regrets roam the streets.</p><p>The air is stale.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Who We Are, In The End [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Things We Lost in the Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hm. i should work on welcome to the server, my ongoing fic with lots of people who enjoy it and look forward to it's updates.</p><p>no. i think i will continue to write shitty takes about characters no one gives a fuck about.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy once had proud shoulders, and a pair of wings that shone like the sun, the gold and red feathers gleaming in the light; ever an Icarus, reaching for the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he’s gaunt, his wings trailing on the ground behind him, the shine long gone from their feathers. Icarus was clipped, and he no longer felt the need to fly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He no longer reaches out to catch himself when he falls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo once had gentle hands, which he used for kind things. Picking flowers, and weaving them into crowns, and placing them on his friend’s head with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, his hands are rough, scarred, callouses from swords and pens alike hardening his fingertips. He uses them for caressing his friend’s face in goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no dirt under his nails anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George once had a loud laugh, the kind where you could hear it across the room. He would only laugh for one man, but that man made him laugh a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he hasn’t seen the man in weeks, not since he was locked up, and he’s stopped laughing completely, stopped smiling, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t wear the goggles that let him see color.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap once smelled of smoke, and woodfire. He smelled like camping in the woods, and freedom, and the feeling of an arm around your shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he smells of cigarettes, and his fiance’s books, and his other fiance’s beer, and dark rooms and prison cells and regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t like candles anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret once wore long skirts, and cloaks, and jewelry. She used to hang chains around her neck, and slip rings onto her fingers, and smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he wears simple clothes, his once ornate clothes swapped out for a t-shirt and jeans, maybe a blouse, if it’s hot out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They build so much, create things out of nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy once played jokes on people. Pranks to make them smile, or maybe shout in anger, just so he had something to do with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he isn’t joking, he’s done with that. This is serious in a way nothing else has ever been, and he isn’t laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d lost his engagement ring months ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki once had a gentle voice, so quiet and sweet, her words like honey, her laugh like sugar. It was so calming, listening to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, she speaks of murder, and death, and her words are spat, her face hard. When she speaks, the world trembles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her room is far too cold at night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity once had sung songs, his laughter contagious. Some tunes had been good, most terrible, and sometimes, people sang along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he hasn’t sung in months, not since his ex-husband told him it sounded like shit, but the bastard was dead, so he looks at the sky and hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t liked beer much, before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade once struck fear into his enemies, his sword sharp and his voice chilling. He was what kept grown men awake at night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he’s switched out his weapons for tools, and built himself a home. He hadn’t slept in weeks, remembering fiery wings and a silent child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His glasses are broken again, but he doesn’t fix them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza once had a family, his two sons meaning the world to him, his snow white wings gentle and kind, wrapping around them to ward off nightmares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, one of his sons is dead, and the other long gone, and he can’t find it in himself to care about whether or not the world kept turning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s stopped using his cane.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ranboo once had a shining crown. He walked upright, his eyes turned to the rooftops, his smile gentle and full of pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, his crown is gone, his head heavy. He slumps over, eyes searching for an escape, jaw tight and fearful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His suits lay discarded in his closet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bad once had a firm heart, beating twice as fast as normal, one beat for himself, the second for his soulmate, his beloved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, vines wrap around his heart, and his lungs and his soul, and it only beats once, for him. His love is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still has a little diamond tattoo on his wrist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Skeppy once had a fire, a roaring wave of emotion, and hope, and anger. He lusted for adventure, for adrenaline, for love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he sits silently in a small room, his skin red, his eyes red, his clothes red. He doesn’t feel anything anymore, but he doesn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a halo on his wrist, but it is covered by vines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam once had keen eyes, solid black, yet so full of hope and kindness and love. He was patient, and gentle, and forgiving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he turns away from his best friend, pretending not to notice the bouquet of roses clutched in Ponk’s hand. He has no time for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes the redstone didn’t look so much like blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Punz once cared for his friends above all else. He would follow them to the grave, if he had to, and beyond, if he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, the shulker sits in his ender chest, surrounded by diamond blocks. He gets a strange buzz when he looks at it, a smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took off his necklace, burying it along with his other gold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Karl once had a hoodie of millions of colors, the shifting dye bright and lively, just like him, just like his hopes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's white now, and hangs loosely on him. He can't remember what it looked like, he realizes, faintly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn't scare him anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream once had a server, full of people who would fight for him out of love, and he thought he loved them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he has a prison cell, and a clock, and he’s so tired and lonely, and his back hurts, and he’s not fucking sorry for what he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The books he writes are all sad.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me on tumblr @manifoldland-empire, i want clout.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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